49 to 42

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In two weeks, I’ll be 49.

I’m trying not to dread that number while secretly dreading it anyway — hey, I know, I’m healthy and I’m here and all that — but at the same time I’m also reading this heavy book and writing some not so pleasant scenes, so I’ve got the urge to lighten it up around here.

At least for today.

If you didn’t see last week’s article “In Praise of 42-Year-Old Women,” put me on pause while you link over. It begins, Let’s face it: There used to be something tragic about even the most beautiful forty-two-year-old woman.

Thankfully, Tom Scocca at Gawker did me one better with his response essay: “Esquire Writers: We’re Willing To Fuck Early Middle-Aged Ladies.”, which says in part that, Now 42 is awesome. Tom Junod can name several famous women who are 42 who he would be willing to fuck. Right in their 42-year-old vaginas. Cameron Diaz. Sofia Vergara. Leslie Mann. Amy Poehler. He would fuck these women, despite their age, and even share a joke with them, because the 42-year-old woman, she is a person, or at least a person-like idea.

I laughed hysterically.

You know, because I’m not even close to 42 anymore, so I must be hysterical. I am a woman after all.